Don't fall in love with people like me
by Kissing-a-starless-sky
Summary: The war is over. Ginny has not come to terms with has happened yet and as she tries to find her feet again, the unexpected happens. Warning:femslash
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ginny lay on her back in the open field just behind the Burrow. Her muscles ached and throbbed from the effort of the now, finished Quiddich practice. A loose strand of hair lay, clinging to the perspiration that remained on her cheek. She brushed it aside and folded her arms above her head, staring up at the now fading light. The clouds drifted by lazily and spread across the horizon, revealing the first stars of the evening.

It had been five years. Five years since she lost classmates, friends, family… Peace had reigned. No sign of any of Voldemort's supporters had arisen. There were always a few that lay dormant but most were hiding from the Aurors who were tirelessly hunting them. There was always bound to be some kind of evil in the world, but nothing was directly hitting home. Everyone felt a sense of uneasy peace.

Ginny sat up slowly, grimacing from the ache in her shoulders. She felt ten years older than she was. Her characteristic Weasley red hair now stood up at odd angles, loose strands of grass clinging to the windswept locks. She shook it out half-heartedly, missing a few blades of grass that clung with stubbornness worthy of her own. She gathered up her gloves and broom, which she had a few minutes ago, tossed aside in frustration after her practice.

Quiddich had been the only thing so far that had been keeping Ginny moving. The aftermath of the battle for Hogwarts had left some emotional scars that seemed to linger; fine wine that seemed to become more floral with age. The ministry had offered her a post after her seventh year at Hogwarts, which had taken place after the destruction of the castle, had been cleared up. An Auror; when did Ginny Weasley lose her cool, calm and badass demeanour? The thought of hunting down the people that had massacred so many people… Ginny just didn't have the stomach for it.

She started making her way up the small ridge, heading back to the family home. It was only Ginny left now. Of course, Mr and Mrs Weasley still remained at the Burrow. They had rebuilt the ruin that had lay waiting after the Order had disbanded. Her siblings had moved on and started their own families, had their own lives. But Ginny remained, still trying to get an appointment for try-outs for numerous Quiddich teams around Europe. Ginny could not hide the frustration of the matter anymore. She tossed her broom aside and entered the house.

Mrs Weasley sat by the kitchen fireplace with a cup of tea in hand, her bewitched knitting needles working tirelessly to produce what Ginny assumed was a new jumper for Rose, Hermione and Ron's daughter. She had to be turning two years old soon? Ginny hadn't seen her brother in quite a few months. They had a small place out in the countryside. Hermione was working on a new book. Ron was still helping George out at the joke shop. Fred had left a large portion of his shares to his youngest brother.

"How was the practice?" Mrs Weasley chimed into Ginny's train of thought. "Hmm?" replied Ginny, taking a mug from the shelf off the far wall of the kitchen. The kitchen seemed too large when it was not filled with the numerous Weasley clan. "Your practice dear." , repeated Mrs Weasley, glancing up from her cup at Ginny. Ginny poured some of the tea standing on the wood burning stove into her mug. "Unfruitful." Ginny mumbled into her cup. "I can't get the type of practice I need when it's just me." Ginny hoisted herself up onto the kitchen counter, wincing as her muscles twinged under her tall frame's weight.

Mrs Weasley placed her mug onto the kitchen table silently. Her aging eyes met with her only daughter's. "Give it time, dear." Ginny took another gulp of her tea and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Posters of the Hollyhead Harpies covered most of her childhood bedroom's walls. It had always been a dream of Ginny's to play for the Harpies. She fell unceremoniously onto her bed and stared at the moving posters; tiny chasers handing off a Quaffle to one another.

Ginny rolled over onto her side. A small blade of grass fell from her hair and landed on the pillow next to her head. She plucked it from the fabric and rolled it between her slim fingers. Her fingertips were calloused from the rough handle of her slightly outdated broom. Her face was sticky from the now dried perspiration left from the earlier solo practice session. She sighed and propped herself up on her elbow, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She kicked off her boots and stood up, with great discontent, to rid herself of the day's frustration.

The warm water of the shower washed away the dirt and sweat from her body, relaxing her muscles in the process. Her body had become thin, but muscular. Ginny had no interest in doing anything apart from Quiddich. There was no doubt that she was a brilliant chaser, but getting other people to notice that is harder than in seems. She had played so many try outs but kept falling short. She needed a new broom. That would give her an edge, but getting together enough money to buy an above average broom was just as difficult.

Ginny fell into bed, her eyes watering from the effort of staying awake. Her body was exhausted, her mind was not much better off. Her hair, still damp, fell across her face like a drape. She signed deeply and within a few seconds, drifted into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Damnit!" yelled Ginny into the open field behind the Burrow as her Quaffle flew half way across the field into an area of thick brush. When she was far younger, the Weasley children had constructed a small Quiddich pitch in the backyard of the Burrow. Charlie was a decent player; after all he had been captain of the Gryffindor team in his day. Mr Weasley had decided it was a good idea for him to coach the younger Weasley boys in the ways of the sport. Ginny had only been 5 years old when she came zooming around on her first broom.

Ginny touched down on the bottom edge of the homemade field and propped her broom up against a tree stump. She clambered her way through the thick brush, on her hands and knees, searching for her missing Quaffle. Small thorny outcrops scratched against the smooth pale surface of her cheek. "Bloody hell," she hissed, wiping the small droplets of blood on her sleeve.

Muddy, cold and with score marks on various places across her face, Ginny emerged on the other side of the thicket, still no Quaffle in sight. She clambered to her feet, brushing dirt from her trousers and picking dried branches from her hair. She glanced around at the open field ahead of her. "Where did that damned Quaffle go?" Ginny muttered to herself. There was a small glint ahead, probably a few hundred yards off. Begrudgingly, Ginny made her way down a small dip in the landscape which rose once more to look out over a small pond that lay to the far-east side of the property.

Ginny halted suddenly. The small glint was coming from an indistinct figure a ways off from the pond. The figure, now closer to Ginny's line of sight, appeared to be a female. A petit framed girl stood, holding the leather ball under her arm, with one hand shielding her eyes from the autumn glare. She looked around, trying to find the source of the strange looking ball. A small blanket had been laid out on the grass next to her with what appeared to be a very thin, shiny book upon it.

There was a small path in the long grass that had, obviously been made by the girl, as her boots flattened the grass into submission. It came straight up from an old gravel road that the Weasleys' had not used in years. All the Weasleys' had just apparated to the burrow. The road had only been used on one occasion, when the old bewitched Ford Anglia had been driven along it when she was much, much younger…

An old motorcycle stood on the dusty road a few yards away from where the girl was. The had her hand up against the light, looking around in bewilderment, but Ginny knew she girl would not be able to see much apart from an area of thick brush. The Weasley's property was protected by a slew of charms to prevent Muggles and unwanted guests wandering into the Burrow by accident. Ginny stood behind the magical barriers and observed the girl curiously. What was she doing this far out from the main road? They never saw Muggles this far out of the village, which was miles back down the old gravel road.

The girl turned and started to gather up her things. She tucked the shiny book away into a backpack and rolled her blanket up. She tied it with a small strap to keep it from coming undone and tucked it under her arm. She marched across the fresh grassy path, Quaffle under one arm and blanket in the other. Ginny started and moved across the field toward where the girl was retreating. She halted on the edge of the barrier and observed. The girl subsequently attached the blanket and Quaffle to the back of her motorcycle and swung a leg over to mount the machine. She slipped a helmet over her head and the machine roared to life.

Ginny jumped at the sound and took off down the grassy path. That was her last Quaffle. She didn't intend to lose it to a Muggle. She tore down toward the road and stopped in front of the motorcycle. The girl, obviously startled, shut off the roaring motorcycle and took her helmet off. A wave of curls fell loose across the girl's shoulders as the helmet revealed her features. "Jesus, where did you come from?" The girl, who appeared to be quite flabbergasted, dismounted the motorcycle and placed the helmet on the seat.

A short mop of curls hung loosely across her shoulders, framing a canvas of freckles stretching from the corner of her hazel eyes to the tip of her nose. Ginny had not fully registered what the girl had said. "Are you alright? Do you need some help?" The girl had a hint of worry in her eyes as they glanced down at Ginny's appearance. Her trousers were mud-stained and small scratches across her cheeks were obvious in their close proximity.

Ginny responded quickly raising her hands, "Oh no. Thanks. Sorry I just noticed you found my… ball." Ginny gestured to the Quaffle which was securely attached to the back of the girl's motorcycle. The girl sceptically detached the Quaffle and handed it to Ginny. "Do you need me to take you to a hospital? What are you doing this far out of town?" The girl touched Ginny's shoulder carefully with her fingertips, as if she was speaking to a child.

Ginny took a step back, the girl's fingers retracted and she cleared her throat. Ginny stupidly responded with: "Err, no thanks, I just live above the ridge there." Ginny tilted her head in the general direction of the burrow. "I just got caught in the brush on the way down." The girl looked disbelievingly at her as Ginny roughly tried to wipe the dust and blood from her face with her sleeve.

"Well, if you're sure…" the girl tapered off, looking at Ginny, her face puzzled. She turned and swung her leg over the motorcycle, securing her helmet to her head. "Sorry about your ball." She muttered under the roaring of the engine between her legs. Ginny took a step back and allowed the girl to turn her motorcycle in the direction of the main road.

Ginny watched as the girl disappeared out of sight towards the village and hesitated until the faint rumble of the motorcycle was barely audible. She hastily apparated to the Burrow and trudged, muddy boots and all, through the kitchen door. She stripped her damp jumper from her shivering body and hung it in front of the kitchen hearth. She kicked the muddy boots off and headed up the stairs.

Ginny drew her wand and closed the door to her bedroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed with frustration at her appearance. There were numerous cuts across her cheeks that were streaked with dried blood and dust from the undergrowth. "Probably scared her half to death." Ginny muttered at herself in the mirror, waving her wand over the cuts, healing them instantly. Her smooth skin was littered with faint freckles. Her blue eyes wandered over the curve of own jawline, coming to a halt at the tip of her nose. She shook herself out of her daze, her mind wandering again briefly, to the Muggle girl.


End file.
